But they reasoned of fate at the flowing feast,Nor stifled the fluent thought, We sham, we shuffle while faith declines-- They were frank in the Age of the Antonines.

Orders and ranks they kept degree,Few felt how the parvenu pines,No law-maker took the lawless one's fee In the Age of the Antonines!Under law made will the world reposedAnd the ruler's right confessed,For the heavens elected the Emperor then,The foremost of men the best. Ah, might we read in America's signs The Age restored of the Antonines.

IIShall code or creed a lure affordTo win all selves to Love's accord?When Love ordained a supper divine For the wide world of man,What bickerings o'er his gracious wine! Then strange new feuds began.

Effectual more in lowlier way, Pacific Herb, thy sensuous pleaThe bristling clans of Adam sway At least to fellowship in thee!Before thine altar tribal flags are furled,Fain wouldst thou make one hearthstone of the world.

IIITo scythe, to sceptre, pen and hod-- Yea, sodden laborers dumb;To brains overplied, to feet that plod,In solace of the _Truce of God_ The Calumet has come!

IVAh for the world ere Raleigh's find Never that knew this suasive balmThat helps when Gilead's fails to heal, Helps by an interserted charm.

Insinuous thou that through the nerve Windest the soul, and so canst winSome from repinings, some from sin, The Church's aim thou dost subserve.

The ruffled fag fordone with care And brooding, God would ease this pain:Him soothest thou and smoothest down Till some content return again.

Even ruffians feel thy influence breed Saint Martin's summer in the mind,They feel this last evangel plead,As did the first, apart from creed, Be peaceful, man--be kind!

VRejected once on higher plain,O Love supreme, to come again Can this be thine?Again to come, and win us too In likeness of a weedThat as a god didst vainly woo, As man more vainly bleed?

VIForbear, my soul! and in thine Eastern chamber Rehearse the dream that brings the long release:Through jasmine sweet and talismanic amber Inhaling Herba Santa in the passive Pipe of Peace.

OFF CAPE COLONNA

Aloof they crown the foreland lone, From aloft they loftier rise--Fair columns, in the aureole rolled From sunned Greek seas and skies.They wax, sublimed to fancy's view,A god-like group against the blue.

Over much like gods! Serene they saw The wolf-waves board the deck,And headlong hull of Falconer, And many a deadlier wreck.

THE APPARITION_The Parthenon uplifted on its rock firstchallenging the view on the approach to Athens._

With other power appealing down, Trophy of Adam's best!If cynic minds you scarce convert,You try them, shake them, or molest.

Diogenes, that honest heart, Lived ere your date began;Thee had he seen, he might have swervedIn mood nor barked so much at Man.

L'ENVOI_The Return of the Sire de Nesle._A.D. 16

My towers at last! These rovings end,Their thirst is slaked in larger dearth:The yearning infinite recoils, For terrible is earth.

Kaf thrusts his snouted crags through fog:Araxes swells beyond his span,And knowledge poured by pilgrimage Overflows the banks of man.

But thou, my stay, thy lasting loveOne lonely good, let this but be!Weary to view the wide world's swarm, But blest to fold but thee.

SUPPLEMENT

Were I fastidiously anxious for the symmetry of this book, it wouldclose with the notes. But the times are such that patriotism--not freefrom solicitude--urges a claim overriding all literary scruples.

It is more than a year since the memorable surrender, but events havenot yet rounded themselves into completion. Not justly can we complainof this. There has been an upheaval affecting the basis of things; toaltered circumstances complicated adaptations are to be made; there aredifficulties great and novel. But is Reason still waiting for Passionto spend itself? We have sung of the soldiers and sailors, but whoshall hymn the politicians?

In view of the infinite desirableness of Re-establishment, andconsidering that, so far as feeling is concerned, it depends not mainlyon the temper in which the South regards the North, but ratherconversely; one who never was a blind adherent feels constrained tosubmit some thoughts, counting on the indulgence of his countrymen.

And, first, it may be said that, if among the feelings and opinionsgrowing immediately out of a great civil convulsion, there are anywhich time shall modify or do away, they are presumably those of a lesstemperate and charitable cast.

There seems no reason why patriotism and narrowness should go together,or why intellectual impartiality should be confounded with politicaltrimming, or why serviceable truth should keep cloistered because notpartisan. Yet the work of Reconstruction, if admitted to be feasible atall, demands little but common sense and Christian charity. Little butthese? These are much.

Some of us are concerned because as yet the South shows no penitence.But what exactly do we mean by this? Since down to the close of the warshe never confessed any for braving it, the only penitence now left heris that which springs solely from the sense of discomfiture; and sincethis evidently would be a contrition hypocritical, it would be unworthyin us to demand it. Certain it is that penitence, in the sense ofvoluntary humiliation, will never be displayed. Nor does this affordjust ground for unreserved condemnation. It is enough, for allpractical purposes, if the South have been taught by the terrors ofcivil war to feel that Secession, like Slavery, is against Destiny;that both now lie buried in one grave; that her fate is linked withours; and that together we comprise the Nation.

The clouds of heroes who battled for the Union it is needless toeulogize here. But how of the soldiers on the other side? And when of afree community we name the soldiers, we thereby name the people. It wasin subserviency to the slave-interest that Secession was plotted; butit was under the plea, plausibly urged, that certain inestimable rightsguaranteed by the Constitution were directly menaced, that the peopleof the South were cajoled into revolution. Through the arts of theconspirators and the perversity of fortune, the most sensitive love ofliberty was entrapped into the support of a war whose implied end wasthe erecting in our advanced century of an Anglo-American empire basedupon the systematic degradation of man.

Spite this clinging reproach, however, signal military virtues andachievements have conferred upon the Confederate arms historic fame,and upon certain of the commanders a renown extending beyond thesea--a renown which we of the North could not suppress, even if wewould. In personal character, also, not a few of the military leadersof the South enforce forbearance; the memory of others the Northrefrains from disparaging; and some, with more or less of reluctance,she can respect. Posterity, sympathizing with our convictions, butremoved from our passions, may perhaps go farther here. If George IVcould, out of the graceful instinct of a gentleman, raise an honorablemonument in the great fane of Christendom over the remains of the enemyof his dynasty, Charles Edward, the invader of England and victor inthe rout of Preston Pans--upon whose head the king's ancestor but onereign removed had set a price--is it probable that the granchildren ofGeneral Grant will pursue with rancor, or slur by sour neglect, thememory of Stonewall Jackson?

But the South herself is not wanting in recent histories andbiographies which record the deeds of her chieftains--writings freelypublished at the North by loyal houses, widely read here, and with adeep though saddened interest. By students of the war such works arehailed as welcome accessories, and tending to the completeness of therecord.

Supposing a happy issue out of present perplexities, then, in thegeneration next to come, Southerners there will be yielding allegianceto the Union, feeling all their interests bound up in it, and yetcherishing unrebuked that kind of feeling for the memory of thesoldiers of the fallen Confederacy that Burns, Scott, and the EttrickShepherd felt for the memory of the gallant clansmen ruined throughtheir fidelity to the Stuarts--a feeling whose passion was tempered bythe poetry imbuing it, and which in no wise affected their loyalty tothe Georges, and which, it may be added, indirectly contributedexcellent things to literature. But, setting this view aside,dishonorable would it be in the South were she willing to abandon toshame the memory of brave men who with signal personaldisinterestedness warred in her behalf, though from motives, as webelieve, so deplorably astray.

Patriotism is not baseness, neither is it inhumanity. The mourners whothis summer bear flowers to the mounds of the Virginian and Georgiandead are, in their domestic bereavement and proud affection, as sacredin the eye of Heaven as are those who go with similar offerings oftender grief and love into the cemeteries of our Northern martyrs. Andyet, in one aspect, how needless to point the contrast.

Cherishing such sentiments, it will hardly occasion surprise that, inlooking over the battle-pieces in the foregoing collection, I have beentempted to withdraw or modify some of them, fearful lest in presenting,though but dramatically and by way of poetic record, the passions andepithets of civil war, I might be contributing to a bitterness whichevery sensible American must wish at an end. So, too, with the emotionof victory as reproduced on some pages, and particularly toward theclose. It should not be construed into an exultation misapplied--anexultation as ungenerous as unwise, and made to minister, howeverindirectly, to that kind of censoriousness too apt to be produced incertain natures by success after trying reverses. Zeal is not ofnecessity religion, neither is it always of the same essence withpoetry or patriotism.

There are excesses which marked the conflict, most of which are perhapsinseparable from a civil strife so intense and prolonged, and involvingwarfare in some border countries new and imperfectly civilized.Barbarities also there were, for which the Southern people collectivelycan hardly be held responsible, though perpetrated by ruffians in theirname. But surely other qualities--exalted ones--courage and fortitudematchless, were likewise displayed, and largely; and justly may thesebe held the characteristic traits, and not the former.

In this view, what Northern writer, however patriotic, but must revoltfrom acting on paper a part any way akin to that of the live dog to thedead lion; and yet it is right to rejoice for our triumphs, so far asit may justly imply an advance for our whole country and for humanity.

Let it be held no reproach to any one that he pleads for reasonableconsideration for our late enemies, now stricken down and unavoidablydebarred, for the time, from speaking through authorized agencies forthemselves. Nothing has been urged here in the foolish hope ofconciliating those men--few in number, we trust--who have resolvednever to be reconciled to the Union. On such hearts everything isthrown away except it be religious commiseration, and the sincerest.Yet let them call to mind that unhappy Secessionist, not a militaryman, who with impious alacrity fired the first shot of the Civil War atSumter, and a little more than four years afterward fired the last oneinto his heart at Richmond.

Noble was the gesture into which patriotic passion surprised the peoplein a utilitarian time and country; yet the glory of the war falls shortof its pathos--a pathos which now at last ought to disarm allanimosity.

How many and earnest thoughts still rise, and how hard to repress them.We feel what past years have been, and years, unretarded years, shallcome. May we all have moderation; may we all show candor. Though,perhaps, nothing could ultimately have averted the strife, and thoughto treat of human actions is to deal wholly with second causes,nevertheless, let us not cover up or try to extenuate what, humanlyspeaking, is the truth--namely, that those unfraternal denunciations,continued through years, and which at last inflamed to deeds that endedin bloodshed, were reciprocal; and that, had the preponderatingstrength and the prospect of its unlimited increase lain on the otherside, on ours might have lain those actions which now in our lateopponents we stigmatize under the name of Rebellion. As frankly let usown--what it would be unbecoming to parade were foreigners concerned--that our triumph was won not more by skill and bravery than by superiorresources and crushing numbers; that it was a triumph, too, over apeople for years politically misled by designing men, and also by somehonestly-erring men, who from their position could not have beenotherwise than broadly influential; a people who, though, indeed, theysought to perpetuate the curse of slavery, and even extend it, were notthe authors of it, but (less fortunate, not less righteous than we),were the fated inheritors; a people who, having a like origin withourselves, share essentially in whatever worthy qualities we maypossess. No one can add to the lasting reproach which hopeless defeathas now cast upon Secession by withholding the recognition of theseverities.

Surely we ought to take it to heart that that kind of pacification,based upon principles operating equally all over the land, which loversof their country yearn for, and which our arms, though signallytriumphant, did not bring about, and which lawmaking, however anxious,or energetic, or repressive, never by itself can achieve, may yet belargely aided by generosity of sentiment public and private. Somerevisionary legislation and adaptive is indispensable; but with thisshould harmoniously work another kind of prudence, not unallied withentire magnanimity. Benevolence and policy--Christianity andMachiavelli--dissuade from penal severities toward the subdued.Abstinence here is as obligatory as considerate care for ourunfortunate fellowmen late in bonds, and, if observed, would equallyprove to be wise forecast. The great qualities of the South, thoseattested in the War, we can perilously alienate, or we may make themnationally available at need.

The blacks, in their infant pupilage to freedom, appeal to thesympathies of every humane mind. The paternal guardianship which forthe interval government exercises over them was prompted equally byduty and benevolence. Yet such kindliness should not be allowed toexclude kindliness to communities who stand nearer to us in nature. Forthe future of the freed slaves we may well be concerned; but the futureof the whole country, involving the future of the blacks, urges aparamount claim upon our anxiety. Effective benignity, like the Nile,is not narrow in its bounty, and true policy is always broad. To besure, it is vain to seek to glide, with moulded words, over thedifficulties of the situation. And for them who are neither partisans,nor enthusiasts, nor theorists, nor cynics, there are some doubts notreadily to be solved. And there are fears. Why is not the cessation ofwar now at length attended with the settled calm of peace? Wherefore ina clear sky do we still turn our eyes toward the South as theNeapolitan, months after the eruption, turns his toward Vesuvius? Do wedread lest the repose may be deceptive? In the recent convulsion hasthe crater but shifted Let us revere that sacred uncertainty whichforever impends over men and nations. Those of us who always abhorredslavery as an atheistical iniquity, gladly we join in the exultingchorus of humanity over its downfall. But we should remember thatemancipation was accomplished not by deliberate legislation; onlythrough agonized violence could so mighty a result be effected. In ournatural solicitude to confirm the benefit of liberty to the blacks, letus forbear from measures of dubious constitutional rightfulness towardour white countrymen--measures of a nature to provoke, among other ofthe last evils, exterminating hatred of race toward race. Inimagination let us place ourselves in the unprecedented position of theSoutherners--their position as regards the millions of ignorantmanumitted slaves in their midst, for whom some of us now claim thesuffrage. Let us be Christians toward our fellow-whites, as well asphilanthropists toward the blacks, our fellow-men. In all things, andtoward all, we are enjoined to do as we would be done by. Nor should weforget that benevolent desires, after passing a certain point, can notundertake their own fulfillment without incurring the risk of evilsbeyond those sought to be remedied. Something may well be left to thegraduated care of future legislation, and to heaven. In one point ofview the co-existence of the two races in the South, whether the negrobe bond or free, seems (even as it did to Abraham Lincoln) a graveevil. Emancipation has ridded the country of the reproach, but notwholly of the calamity. Especially in the present transition period forboth races in the South, more or less of trouble may not unreasonablybe anticipated; but let us not hereafter be too swift to charge theblame exclusively in any one quarter. With certain evils men must bemore or less patient. Our institutions have a potent digestion, and mayin time convert and assimilate to good all elements thrown in, howeveroriginally alien.

But, so far as immediate measures looking toward permanent Re-establishment are concerned, no consideration should tempt us topervert the national victory into oppression for the vanquished. Shouldplausible promise of eventual good, or a deceptive or spurious sense ofduty, lead us to essay this, count we must on serious consequences, notthe least of which would be divisions among the Northern adherents ofthe Union. Assuredly, if any honest Catos there be who thus far havegone with us, no longer will they do so, but oppose us, and asresolutely as hitherto they have supported. But this path of thoughtleads toward those waters of bitterness from which one can only turnaside and be silent.

But supposing Re-establishment so far advanced that the Southern seatsin Congress are occupied, and by men qualified in accordance with thosecardinal principles of representative government which hitherto haveprevailed in the land--what then? Why, the Congressmen elected by thepeople of the South will--represent the people of the South. This mayseem a flat conclusion; but, in view of the last five years, may therenot be latent significance in it? What will be the temper of thoseSouthern members? and, confronted by them, what will be the mood of ourown representatives? In private life true reconciliation seldom followsa violent quarrel; but, if subsequent intercourse be unavoidable, niceobservances and mutual are indispensable to the prevention of a newrupture. Amity itself can only be maintained by reciprocal respect, andtrue friends are punctilious equals. On the floor of Congress North andSouth are to come together after a passionate duel, in which the South,though proving her valor, has been made to bite the dust. Upondifferences in debate shall acrimonious recriminations be exchanged?Shall censorious superiority assumed by one section provoke defiantself-assertion on the other? Shall Manassas and Chickamauga be retortedfor Chattanooga and Richmond? Under the supposition that the fullCongress will be composed of gentlemen, all this is impossible. Yet, ifotherwise, it needs no prophet of Israel to foretell the end. Themaintenance of Congressional decency in the future will rest mainlywith the North. Rightly will more forbearance be required from theNorth than the South, for the North is victor.

But some there are who may deem these latter thoughts inapplicable, andfor this reason: Since the test-oath operatively excludes from Congressall who in any way participated in Secession, therefore none butSoutherners wholly in harmony with the North are eligible to seats.This is true for the time being. But the oath is alterable; and in thewonted fluctuations of parties not improbably it will undergoalteration, assuming such a form, perhaps, as not to bar the admissioninto the National Legislature of men who represent the populationslately in revolt. Such a result would involve no violation of theprinciples of democratic government. Not readily can one perceive howthe political existence of the millions of late Secessionists canpermanently be ignored by this Republic. The years of the war tried ourdevotion to the Union; the time of peace may test the sincerity of ourfaith in democracy.

In no spirit of opposition, not by way of challenge, is anything herethrown out. These thoughts are sincere ones; they seem natural--inevitable. Here and there they must have suggested themselves to manythoughtful patriots. And, if they be just thoughts, ere long they musthave that weight with the public which already they have had withindividuals.

For that heroic band--those children of the furnace who, in regionslike Texas and Tennessee, maintained their fidelity through terribletrials--we of the North felt for them, and profoundly we honor them.Yet passionate sympathy, with resentments so close as to be almostdomestic in their bitterness, would hardly in the present juncture tendto discreet legislation. Were the Unionists and Secessionists but asGuelphs and Ghibellines? If not, then far be it from a great nation nowto act in the spirit that animated a triumphant town-faction in theMiddle Ages. But crowding thoughts must at last be checked; and, intimes like the present, one who desires to be impartially just in theexpression of his views, moves as among sword-points presented on everyside.

Let us pray that the terrible historic tragedy of our time may not havebeen enacted without instructing our whole beloved country throughterror and pity; and may fulfillment verify in the end thoseexpectations which kindle the bards of Progress and Humanity.

Poems From Battle Pieces

THE PORTENT1859

Hanging from the beam, Slowly swaying (such the law),Gaunt the shadow on your green, Shenandoah!The cut is on the crown(Lo, John Brown),And the stabs shall heal no more.

Hidden in the cap Is the anguish none can draw;So your future veils its face, Shenandoah!But the streaming beard is shown(Weird John Brown),The meteor of the war.

FROM THE CONFLICT OF CONVICTIONS1860-1

The Ancient of Days forever is young, Forever the scheme of Nature thrives;I know a wind in purpose strong-- It spins _against_ the way it drives.What if the gulfs their slimed foundations bare?So deep must the stones be hurledWhereon the throes of ages rearThe final empire and the happier world.

Power unanointed may come--Dominion (unsought by the free) And the Iron Dome,Stronger for stress and strain,Fling her huge shadow athwart the main;But the Founders' dream shall flee.Age after age has been,(From man's changeless heart their way they win);And death be busy with all who strive--Death, with silent negative.

_Yea and Nay--_ _Each hath his say;_ _But God He keeps the middle way._ _None was by_ _When He spread the sky;_ _Wisdom is vain, and prophecy._

THE MARCH INTO VIRGINIA_Ending in the First Manassas_July, 1861

Did all the lets and bars appear To every just or larger end,Whence should come the trust and cheer? Youth must its ignorant impulse lend--Age finds place in the rear. All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys,The champions and enthusiasts of the state: Turbid ardors and vain joys Not barrenly abate-- Stimulants to the power mature, Preparatives of fate.

Who here forecasteth the event?What heart but spurns at precedentAnd warnings of the wise,Contemned foreclosures of surprise?The banners play, the bugles call,The air is blue and prodigal. No berrying party, pleasure-wooed,No picnic party in the May,Ever went less loth than they Into that leafy neighborhood.In Bacchic glee they file toward Fate,Moloch's uninitiate;Expectancy, and glad surmiseOf battle's unknown mysteries.All they feel is this: 't is glory,A rapture sharp, though transitory,Yet lasting in belaureled story.So they gayly go to fight,Chatting left and laughing right.

But some who this blithe mood present, As on in lightsome files they fare,Shall die experienced ere three days are spent-- Perish, enlightened by the vollied glare;Or shame survive, and, like to adamant, The throe of Second Manassas share.

BALL'S BLUFF_A Reverie_October, 1861

One noonday, at my window in the town, I saw a sight--saddest that eyes can see-- Young soldiers marching lustily Unto the wars,With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry; While all the porches, walks, and doorsWere rich with ladies cheering royally.

They moved like Juny morning on the wave, Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime (It was the breezy summer time), Life throbbed so strong,How should they dream that Death in a rosy clime Would come to thin their shining throng?Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime.

Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving bed, By night I mused, of easeful sleep bereft, On those 'brave boys (Ah War! thy theft); Some marching feetFound pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft; Wakeful I mused, while in the streetFar footfalls died away till none were left.

THE STONE FLEET_An Old Sailor's Lament_December, 1861

I have a feeling for those ships, Each worn and ancient one,With great bluff bows, and broad in the beam: Ay, it was unkindly done. But so they serve the Obsolete-- Even so, Stone Fleet!

You'll say I'm doting; do you think I scudded round the Horn in one--The _Tenedos,_ a glorious Good old craft as ever run-- Sunk (how all unmeet!) With the Old Stone Fleet.

An India ship of fame was she, Spices and shawls and fans she bore;A whaler when the wrinkles came-- Turned off! till, spent and poor, Her bones were sold (escheat)! Ah! Stone Fleet.

Four were erst patrician keels (Names attest what families be),The _Kensington,_ and _Richmond_ too, _Leonidas,_ and _Lee_: But now they have their seat With the Old Stone Fleet.

To scuttle them--a pirate deed-- Sack them, and dismast;They sunk so slow, they died so hard, But gurgling dropped at last. Their ghosts in gales repeat _Woe's us, Stone Fleet!_

And all for naught. The waters pass-- Currents will have their way;Nature is nobody's ally; 'tis well; The harbor is bettered--will stay. A failure, and complete, Was your Old Stone Fleet.

THE TEMERAIRE

_Supposed to have been suggested to an Englishman ofthe old order by the fight of the Monitor and Merrimac_

The gloomy hulls in armor grim, Like clouds o'er moors have met,And prove that oak, and iron, and man Are tough in fibre yet.

But Splendors wane. The sea-fight yields No front of old display;The garniture, emblazonment, And heraldry all decay.

Towering afar in parting light, The fleets like Albion's forelands shine--The full-sailed fleets, the shrouded show Of Ships-of-the-Line.

The fighting _Temeraire,_ Built of a thousand trees, Lunging out her lightnings, And beetling o'er the seas-- O Ship, how brave and fair, That fought so oft and well,

On open decks you manned the gun Armorial.What cheerings did you share, Impulsive in the van,When down upon leagued France and Spain We English ran--The freshet at your bowsprit Like the foam upon the can.Bickering, your colors Licked up the Spanish air,You flapped with flames of battle-flags-- Your challenge, _Temeraire!_The rear ones of our fleet They yearned to share your place,Still vying with the VictoryThroughout that earnest race--The Victory, whose Admiral, With orders nobly won,Shone in the globe of the battle glow-- The angel in that sun.Parallel in story, Lo, the stately pair,As late in grapple ranging, The foe between them there--When four great hulls lay tiered,And the fiery tempest cleared,And your prizes twain appeared, _Temeraire!_

But Trafalgar is over now, The quarter-deck undone;The carved and castled navies fire Their evening-gun.O, Titan _Temeraire,_ Your stern-lights fade away;Your bulwarks to the years must yield, And heart-of-oak decay.A pigmy steam-tug tows you, Gigantic, to the shore--Dismantled of your guns and spars, And sweeping wings of war.The rivets clinch the iron clads, Men learn a deadlier lore;But Fame has nailed your battle-flags-- Your ghost it sails before:O, the navies old and oaken, O, the _Temeraire_ no more!

A UTILITARIAN VIEW OF THE _MONITOR'S_ FIGHT

Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse, More ponderous than nimble;For since grimed War here laid asideHis Orient pomp, 'twould ill befit Overmuch to ply The rhyme's barbaric cymbal.

Hail to victory without the gaud Of glory; zeal that needs no fansOf banners; plain mechanic powerPlied cogently in War now placed-- Where War belongs-- Among the trades and artisans.

Yet this was battle, and intense-- Beyond the strife of fleets heroic;Deadlier, closer, calm 'mid storm;No passion; all went on by crank, Pivot, and screw, And calculations of caloric.

Needless to dwell; the story's known. The ringing of those plates on platesStill ringeth round the world--The clangor of that blacksmiths' fray. The anvil-din Resounds this message from the Fates:

War shall yet be, and to the end; But war-paint shows the streaks of weather;War yet shall be, but warriorsAre now but operatives; War's made Less grand than Peace, And a singe runs through lace and feather.

MALVERN HILLJuly, 1862

Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill In prime of morn and May,Recall ye how McClellan's men Here stood at bay?While deep within yon forest dim Our rigid comrades lay--Some with the cartridge in their mouth,Others with fixed arms lifted South-- Invoking so--The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe!

The spires of Richmond, late beheldThrough rifts in musket-haze,Were closed from view in clouds of dust On leaf-walled ways,Where streamed our wagons in caravan; And the Seven Nights and DaysOf march and fast, retreat and fight,Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight-- Does the elm woodRecall the haggard beards of blood?

The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed, We followed (it never fell!)--In silence husbanded our strength-- Received their yell;Till on this slope we patient turned With cannon ordered well;Reverse we proved was not defeat;But ah, the sod what thousands meet!-- Does Malvern WoodBethink itself, and muse and brood? _We elms of Malvern Hill_ _Remember everything;_ _But sap the twig will fill:_ _Wag the world how it will,_ _Leaves must be green in Spring._

STONEWALL JACKSON_Mortally wounded at Chancellorsville_May, 1863

THE Man who fiercest charged in fight, Whose sword and prayer were long-- Stonewall! Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong,How can we praise? Yet coming days Shall not forget him with this song.

Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead, Vainly he died and set his seal-- Stonewall! Earnest in error, as we feel;True to the thing he deemed was due, True as John Brown or steel.

Relentlessly he routed us; But _we_ relent, for he is low-- Stonewall! Justly his fame we outlaw; soWe drop a tear on the bold Virginian's bier, Because no wreath we owe.

THE HOUSE-TOPJuly, 1863_A Night Piece_

No sleep. The sultriness pervades the airAnd binds the brain--a dense oppression, suchAs tawny tigers feel in matted shades,Vexing their blood and making apt for ravage.Beneath the stars the roofy desert spreadsVacant as Libya. All is hushed near by.Yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed surfOf muffled sound, the Atheist roar of riot.Yonder, where parching Sirius set in drought,Balefully glares red Arson--there--and there.The Town is taken by its rats--ship-ratsAnd rats of the wharves. All civil charmsAnd priestly spells which late held hearts in awe--Fear-bound, subjected to a better swayThan sway of self; these like a dream dissolve,And man rebounds whole aeons back in nature.Hail to the low dull rumble, dull and dead,And ponderous drag that shakes the wall.Wise Draco comes, deep in the midnight rollOf black artillery; he comes, though late;In code corroborating Calvin's creedAnd cynic tyrannies of honest kings;He comes, nor parlies; and the Town, redeemed,Gives thanks devout; nor, being thankful, heedsThe grimy slur on the Republic's faith implied,Which holds that Man is naturally good,And--more--is Nature's Roman, never to be scourged.

CHATTANOOGANovember, 1863

A kindling impulse seized the host Inspired by heaven's elastic air;Their hearts outran their General's plan, Though Grant commanded there-- Grant, who without reserve can dare;And, "Well, go on and do your will," He said, and measured the mountain then:So master-riders fling the rein-- But you must know your men.

On yester-morn in grayish mist, Armies like ghosts on hills had fought,And rolled from the cloud their thunders loud The Cumberlands far had caught: To-day the sunlit steeps are sought.Grant stood on cliffs whence all was plain, And smoked as one who feels no cares;But mastered nervousness intenseAlone such calmness wears.

The summit-cannon plunge their flame Sheer down the primal wall,But up and up each linking troop In stretching festoons crawl-- Nor fire a shot. Such men appallThe foe, though brave. He, from the brink, Looks far along the breadth of slope,And sees two miles of dark dots creep, And knows they mean the cope.

He sees them creep. Yet here and there Half hid 'mid leafless groves they go;As men who ply through traceries high Of turreted marbles show-- So dwindle these to eyes below.But fronting shot and flanking shell Sliver and rive the inwoven ways;High tops of oaks and high hearts fall, But never the climbing stays.

From right to left, from left to right They roll the rallying cheer--Vie with each other, brother with brother, Who shall the first appear-- What color-bearer with colors clearIn sharp relief, like sky-drawn Grant, Whose cigar must now be near the stump--While in solicitude his back Heaps slowly to a hump.

Near and more near; till now the flags Run like a catching flame;And one flares highest, to peril nighest-- _He_ means to make a name: Salvos! they give him his fame.The staff is caught, and next the rush, And then the leap where death has led;Flag answered flag along the crest, And swarms of rebels fled.

But some who gained the envied Alp, And--eager, ardent, earnest there--Dropped into Death's wide-open arms, Quelled on the wing like eagles struck in air-- Forever they slumber young and fair,The smile upon them as they died; Their end attained, that end a height:Life was to these a dream fulfilled, And death a starry night.

ON THE PHOTOGRAPH OF A CORPS COMMANDER

Ay, man is manly. Here you see The warrior-carriage of the head,And brave dilation of the frame; And lighting all, the soul that ledIn Spottsylvania's charge to victory, Which justifies his fame.

A cheering picture. It is good To look upon a Chief like this,In whom the spirit moulds the form. Here favoring Nature, oft remiss,With eagle mien expressive has endued A man to kindle strains that warm.

Trace back his lineage, and his sires, Yeoman or noble, you shall findEnrolled with men of Agincourt, Heroes who shared great Harry's mind.Down to us come the knightly Norman fires, And front the Templars bore.

Nothing can lift the heart of man Like manhood in a fellow-man.The thought of heaven's great King afarBut humbles us--too weak to scan;But manly greatness men can span, And feel the bonds that draw.

THE SWAMP ANGEL

There is a coal-black Angel With a thick Afric lip,And he dwells (like the hunted and harried) In a swamp where the green frogs dip.But his face is against a City Which is over a bay of the sea,And he breathes with a breath that is blastment, And dooms by a far decree.

By night there is fear in the City, Through the darkness a star soareth on;There's a scream that screams up to the zenith, Then the poise of a meteor lone--Lighting far the pale fright of the faces, And downward the coming is seen;Then the rush, and the burst, and the havoc, And wails and shrieks between.

It comes like the thief in the gloaming; It comes, and none may foretellThe place of the coming--the glaring; They live in a sleepless spellThat wizens, and withers, and whitens; It ages the young, and the bloomOf the maiden is ashes of roses-- The Swamp Angel broods in his gloom.

Swift is his messengers' going, But slowly he saps their halls,As if by delay deluding. They move from their crumbling wallsFarther and farther away; But the Angel sends after and after,By night with the flame of his ray-- By night with the voice of his screaming--Sends after them, stone by stone, And farther walls fall, farther portals,And weed follows weed through the Town.

Is this the proud City? the scorner Which never would yield the ground?Which mocked at the coal-black Angel? The cup of despair goes round.Vainly he calls upon Michael (The white man's seraph was he,)For Michael has fled from his tower To the Angel over the sea.Who weeps for the woeful City Let him weep for our guilty kind;Who joys at her wild despairing--Christ, the Forgiver, convert his mind.

SHERIDAN AT CEDAR CREEKOctober, 1864

Shoe the steed with silver That bore him to the fray,When he heard the guns at dawning-- Miles away;When he heard them calling, calling-- Mount! nor stay: Quick, or all is lost; They've surprised and stormed the post, They push your routed host--Gallop! retrieve the day.

House the horse in ermine-- For the foam-flake blewWhite through the red October; He thundered into view;They cheered him in the looming. Horseman and horse they knew. The turn of the tide began, The rally of bugles ran, He swung his hat in the van;The electric hoof-spark flew.

Wreathe the steed and lead him-- For the charge he ledTouched and turned the cypress Into amaranths for the headOf Philip, king of riders, Who raised them from the dead. The camp (at dawning lost), By eve, recovered--forced, Rang with laughter of the hostAt belated Early fled.

Shroud the horse in sable-- For the mounds they heap!There is firing in the Valley, And yet no strife they keep;It is the parting volley, It is the pathos deep. There is glory for the brave Who lead, and nobly save, But no knowledge in the graveWhere the nameless followers sleep.

IN THE PRISON PEN1864

Listless he eyes the palisades And sentries in the glare;'Tis barren as a pelican-beach But his world is ended there.

Nothing to do; and vacant hands Bring on the idiot-pain;He tries to think--to recollect, But the blur is on his brain.

Around him swarm the plaining ghosts Like those on Virgil's shore--A wilderness of faces dim, And pale ones gashed and hoar.

A smiting sun. No shed, no tree; He totters to his lair--A den that sick hands dug in earth Ere famine wasted there,

Or, dropping in his place, he swoons, Walled in by throngs that press,Till forth from the throngs they bear him dead-- Dead in his meagreness.

THE COLLEGE COLONEL

He rides at their head; A crutch by his saddle just slants in view,One slung arm is in splints, you see, Yet he guides his strong steed--how coldly too.

He brings his regiment home-- Not as they filed two years before,But a remnant half-tattered, and battered, and worn,Like castaway sailors, who--stunned By the surf's loud roar, Their mates dragged back and seen no more--Again and again breast the surge, And at last crawl, spent, to shore.

A still rigidity and pale-- An Indian aloofness lones his brow;He has lived a thousand yearsCompressed in battle's pains and prayers, Marches and watches slow.

There are welcoming shouts, and flags; Old men off hat to the Boy,Wreaths from gay balconies fall at his feet,But to _him_--there comes alloy.

It is not that a leg is lost, It is not that an arm is maimed,It is not that the fever has racked-- Self he has long disclaimed.

But all through the Seven Days' Fight, And deep in the Wilderness grim,And in the field-hospital tent, And Petersburg crater, and dimLean brooding in Libby, there came-- Ah heaven!--what _truth_ to him.

THE MARTYR_Indicative of the passion of the people on the15th of April, 1865_

Goon Friday was the day Of the prodigy and crime,When they killed him in his pity, When they killed him in his primeOf clemency and calm-- When with yearning he was filled To redeem the evil-willed,And, though conqueror, be kind; But they killed him in his kindness, In their madness and their blindness,And they killed him from behind.

There is sobbing of the strong, And a pall upon the land; But the People in their weeping Bare the iron hand; Beware the People weeping When they bare the iron hand.

He lieth in his blood-- The father in his face;They have killed him, the Forgiver-- The Avenger takes his place,The Avenger wisely stern, Who in righteousness shall do What the heavens call him to,And the parricides remand; For they killed him in his kindness, In their madness and their blindness,And his blood is on their hand.

There is sobbing of the strong, And a pall upon the land; But the People in their weeping Bare the iron hand: Beware the People weeping When they bare the iron hand.

REBEL COLOR-BEARERS AT SHILOH_A plea against the vindictive cry raised by civiliansshortly after the surrender at Appomattox_

The color-bearers facing deathWhite in the whirling sulphurous wreath, Stand boldly out before the line;Right and left their glances go,Proud of each other, glorying in their show;Their battle-flags about them blow, And fold them as in flame divine:Such living robes are only seenRound martyrs burning on the green--And martyrs for the Wrong have been.

Perish their Cause! but mark the men--Mark the planted statues, thenDraw trigger on them if you can.

The leader of a patriot-bandEven so could view rebels who so could stand; And this when peril pressed him sore,Left aidless in the shivered front of war-- Skulkers behind, defiant foes before,And fighting with a broken brand.The challenge in that courage rare--Courage defenseless, proudly bare--Never could tempt him; he could dareStrike up the leveled rifle there.

Sunday at Shiloh, and the dayWhen Stonewall charged--McClellan's crimson May,And Chickamauga's wave of death,And of the Wilderness the cypress wreath-- All these have passed away.The life in the veins of Treason lags,Her daring color-bearers drop their flags, And yield. _Now_ shall we fire? Can poor spite be? Shall nobleness in victory less aspire Than in reverse? Spare Spleen her ire, And think how Grant met Lee.

AURORA BOREALIS_Commemorative of the Dissolution of armies at the Peace_May, 1865

What power disbands the Northern Lights After their steely play?The lonely watcher feels an awe Of Nature's sway, As when appearing, He marked their flashed uprearing In the cold gloom-- Retreatings and advancings,(Like dallyings of doom), Transitions and enhancings, And bloody ray.

The phantom-host has faded quite, Splendor and Terror gonePortent or promise--and gives way To pale, meek Dawn; The coming, going, Alike in wonder showing-- Alike the God, Decreeing and commandingThe million blades that glowed, The muster and disbanding-- Midnight and Morn.

THE RELEASED REBEL PRISONERJune, 1865

Armies he's seen--the herds of war, But never such swarms of menAs now in the Nineveh of the North-- How mad the Rebellion then!

And yet but dimly he divines The depth of that deceit,And superstitution of vast pride Humbled to such defeat.

Seductive shone the Chiefs in arms-- His steel the nearest magnet drew;Wreathed with its kind, the Gulf-weed drives-- 'Tis Nature's wrong they rue.

His face is hidden in his beard, But his heart peers out at eye--And such a heart! like a mountain-pool Where no man passes by.

He hears the drum; he sees our boysFrom his wasted fields return;Ladies feast them on strawberries, And even to kiss them yearn.

He marks them bronzed, in soldier-trim, The rifle proudly borne;They bear it for an heirloom home, And he--disarmed--jail-worn.

Home, home--his heart is full of it; But home he never shall see,Even should he stand upon the spot: 'Tis gone!--where his brothers be.

The cypress-moss from tree to tree Hangs in his Southern land;As weird, from thought to thought of his Run memories hand in hand.

And so he lingers--lingers on In the City of the Foe--His cousins and his countrymen Who see him listless go.

"FORMERLY A SLAVE"_An idealized Portrait, by E. Vedder, in the SpringExhibition of the National Academy, 1865_

The sufferance of her race is shown, And retrospect of life,Which now too late deliverance dawns upon; Yet is she not at strife.

Her children's children they shall know The good withheld from her;And so her reverie takes prophetic cheer-- In spirit she sees the stir.

Far down the depth of thousand years, And marks the revel shine;Her dusky face is lit with sober light, Sibylline, yet benign.

ON THE SLAIN COLLEGIANS

Youth is the time when hearts are large, And stirring warsAppeal to the spirit which appeals in turn To the blade it draws.If woman incite, and duty show (Though made the mask of Cain),Or whether it be Truth's sacred cause, Who can aloof remainThat shares youth's ardor, uncooled by the snow Of wisdom or sordid gain?

The liberal arts and nurture sweet Which give his gentleness to man-- Train him to honor, lend him graceThrough bright examples meet--That culture which makes never wanWith underminings deep, but holds The surface still, its fitting place, And so gives sunniness to the faceAnd bravery to the heart; what troops Of generous boys in happiness thus bred-- Saturnians through life's Tempe led,Went from the North and came from the South,With golden mottoes in the mouth, To lie down midway on a bloody bed.

Woe for the homes of the North,And woe for the seats of the South:All who felt life's spring in prime,And were swept by the wind of their place and time-- All lavish hearts, on whichever side,Of birth urbane or courage high,Armed them for the stirring wars-- Armed them--some to die. Apollo-like in pride.Each would slay his Python--caughtThe maxims in his temple taught-- Aflame with sympathies whose blazePerforce enwrapped him--social laws, Friendship and kin, and by-gone days--Vows, kisses--every heart unmoors,And launches into the seas of wars.What could they else--North or South?Each went forth with blessings givenBy priests and mothers in the name of Heaven; And honor in both was chief.Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong?So be it; but they both were young--Each grape to his cluster clung,All their elegies are sung.The anguish of maternal hearts Must search for balm divine;But well the striplings bore their fated parts (The heavens all parts assign)--Never felt life's care or cloy.Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy;Nor dreamed what death was--thought it mereSliding into some vernal sphere.They knew the joy, but leaped the grief,Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf--Which storms lay low in kindly doom,And kill them in their flush of bloom.

AMERICA

IWhere the wings of a sunny Dome expandI saw a Banner in gladsome air--Starry, like Berenice's Hair--Afloat in broadened bravery there;With undulating long-drawn flow,As tolled Brazilian billows goVoluminously o'er the Line.The Land reposed in peace below; The children in their gleeWere folded to the exulting heart Of young Maternity.

IILater, and it streamed in fight When tempest mingled with the fray,And over the spear-point of the shaft I saw the ambiguous lightning play.Valor with Valor strove, and died:Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride;And the lorn Mother speechless stood,Pale at the fury of her brood.

IIIYet later, and the silk did wind Her fair cold form;Little availed the shining shroud, Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm.A watcher looked upon her low, and said--She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead. But in that sleeps contortion showedThe terror of the vision there-- A silent vision unavowed,Revealing earth's foundation bare, And Gorgon in her hidden place.It was a thing of fear to see So foul a dream upon so fair a face,And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud.

IVBut from the trance she sudden broke-- The trance, or death into promoted life;At her feet a shivered yoke,And in her aspect turned to heaven No trace of passion or of strife--A clear calm look. It spake of pain,But such as purifies from stain--Sharp pangs that never come again-- And triumph repressed by knowledge meet,Power dedicate, and hope grown wise, And youth matured for age's seat--Law on her brow and empire in her eyes. So she, with graver air and lifted flag;While the shadow, chased by light,Fled along the far-drawn height, And left her on the crag.

INSCRIPTION_For Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas_

Let none misgive we died amiss When here we strove in furious fight:Furious it was; nathless was this Better than tranquil plight,And tame surrender of the CauseHallowed by hearts and by the laws. We here who warred for Man and Right,The choice of warring never laid with us. There we were ruled by the traitor's choice. Nor long we stood to trim and poise,But marched and fell--victorious!

THE FORTITUDE OF THE NORTH_Under the Disaster of the Second Manassas_

They take no shame for dark defeat While prizing yet each victory won,Who fight for the Right through all retreat, Nor pause until their work is done.The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe; Vainly against that foreland beatWild winds aloft and wilder waves below:The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleetWhen the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow.

THE MOUND BY THE LAKE

The grass shall never forget this grave.When homeward footing it in the sun After the weary ride by rail,The stripling soldiers passed her door, Wounded perchance, or wan and pale,She left her household work undone--Duly the wayside table spread, With evergreens shaded, to regaleEach travel-spent and grateful one.So warm her heart--childless--unwed,Who like a mother comforted.

ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA

Happy are they and charmed in life Who through long wars arrive unscarredAt peace. To such the wreath be given,If they unfalteringly have striven-- In honor, as in limb, unmarred.Let cheerful praise be rife, And let them live their years at ease,Musing on brothers who victorious died-- Loved mates whose memory shall ever please.

And yet mischance is honorable too-- Seeming defeat in conflict justifiedWhose end to closing eyes is hid from view.The will, that never can relent--The aim, survivor of the bafflement, Make this memorial due.

AN UNINSCRIBED MONUMENT_On one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness_

Silence and solitude may hint (Whose home is in yon piney wood)What I, though tableted, could never tell--The din which here befell, And striving of the multitude.The iron cones and spheres of death Set round me in their rust, These, too, if just,Shall speak with more than animated breath. Thou who beholdest, if thy thought,Not narrowed down to personal cheer,Take in the import of the quiet here-- The after-quiet--the calm full fraught;Thou too wilt silent stand--Silent as I, and lonesome as the land.

ON THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG CAVALRY OFFICERKILLED IN THE VALLEY OF VIRGINIA

Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and friends-- Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had heWhom here low violets veil from eyes. But all these gifts transcended be:His happier fortune in this mound you see.

A REQUIEM_For Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports_

When, after storms that woodlands rue, To valleys comes atoning dawn,The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew; And meadow-larks, no more withdrawnCaroling fly in the languid blue;The while, from many a hid recess,Alert to partake the blessedness,The pouring mites their airy dance pursue. So, after ocean's ghastly gales,When laughing light of hoyden morning breaks, Every finny hider wakes-- From vaults profound swims up with glittering scales; Through the delightsome sea he sails,With shoals of shining tiny thingsFrolic on every wave that flings Against the prow its showery spray;All creatures joying in the morn,Save them forever from joyance torn, Whose bark was lost where now the dolphins play;Save them that by the fabled shore, Down the pale stream are washed away,Far to the reef of bones are borne; And never revisits them the light,Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more; Nor heed they now the lone bird's flightRound the lone spar where mid-sea surges pour.

COMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY

Sailors there are of the gentlest breed, Yet strong, like every goodly thing;The discipline of arms refines, And the wave gives tempering. The damasked blade its beam can fling;It lends the last grave grace:The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman In Titian's picture for a king,Are of hunter or warrior race.

In social halls a favored guest In years that follow victory won,How sweet to feel your festal fame In woman's glance instinctive thrown: Repose is yours--your deed is known,It musks the amber wine;It lives, and sheds a light from storied days Rich as October sunsets brown,Which make the barren place to shine.

But seldom the laurel wreath is seen Unmixed with pensive pansies dark;There's a light and a shadow on every man Who at last attains his lifted mark-- Nursing through night the ethereal spark.Elate he never can be;He feels that spirit which glad had hailed his worth, Sleep in oblivion.--The sharkGlides white through the phosphorus sea.

A MEDITATION

How often in the years that close, When truce had stilled the sieging gun,The soldiers, mounting on their works, With mutual curious glance have runFrom face to face along the fronting show,And kinsman spied, or friend--even in a foe.

What thoughts conflicting then were shared, While sacred tenderness perforceWelled from the heart and wet the eye; And something of a strange remorseRebelled against the sanctioned sin of blood,And Christian wars of natural brotherhood.

Then stirred the god within the breast-- The witness that is man's at birth;A deep misgiving undermined Each plea and subterfuge of earth;They felt in that rapt pause, with warning rife,Horror and anguish for the civil strife.

Of North or South they reeked not then, Warm passion cursed the cause of war:Can Africa pay back this blood Spilt on Potomac's shore?Yet doubts, as pangs, were vain the strife to stay,And hands that fain had clasped again could slay.

How frequent in the camp was seen The herald from the hostile one,A guest and frank companion there When the proud formal talk was done;The pipe of peace was smoked even 'mid the war,And fields in Mexico again fought o'er.

In Western battle long they lay So near opposed in trench or pit,That foeman unto foeman called As men who screened in tavern sit:"You bravely fight" each to the other said--"Toss us a biscuit!" o'er the wall it sped.

And pale on those same slopes, a boy-- A stormer, bled in noon-day glare;No aid the Blue-coats then could bring, He cried to them who nearest were,And out there came 'mid howling shot and shellA daring foe who him befriended well.

Mark the great Captains on both sides, The soldiers with the broad renown--They all were messmates on the Hudson's marge, Beneath one roof they laid them down;And, free from hate in many an after pass,Strove as in school-boy rivalry of the class.

A darker side there is; but doubt In Nature's charity hovers there:If men for new agreement yearn, Then old upbraiding best forbear:"The South's the sinner!" Well, so let it be;But shall the North sin worse, and stand the Pharisee?

O, now that brave men yield the sword, Mine be the manful soldier-view;By how much more they boldly warred, By so much more is mercy due:When Vicksburg fell, and the moody files marched out,Silent the victors stood, scorning to raise a shout.

Poems From Mardi

WE FISH

We fish, we fish, we merrily swim,We care not for friend nor for foe. Our fins are stout, Our tails are out,As through the seas we go.

Fish, Fish, we are fish with red gills; Naught disturbs us, our blood is at zero:We are buoyant because of our bags, Being many, each fish is a hero.We care not what is it, this life That we follow, this phantom unknown;To swim, it's exceedingly pleasant,-- So swim away, making a foam.This strange looking thing by our side, Not for safety, around it we flee:--Its shadow's so shady, that's all,-- We only swim under its lee.And as for the eels there above, And as for the fowls of the air,We care not for them nor their ways, As we cheerily glide afar!

We fish, we fish, we merrily swim,We care not for friend nor for foe: Our fins are stout, Our tails are out,As through the seas we go.

INVOCATION

Ha, ha, gods and kings; fill high, one and all;Drink, drink! shout and drink! mad respond to the call!Fill fast, and fill full; 'gainst the goblet ne'er sin;Quaff there, at high tide, to the uttermost rim:-- Flood-tide, and soul-tide to the brim!

Who with wine in him fears? who thinks of his cares?Who sighs to be wise, when wine in him flares?Water sinks down below, in currents full slow;But wine mounts on high with its genial glow:-- Welling up, till the brain overflow!

As the spheres, with a roll, some fiery of soul,Others golden, with music, revolve round the pole;So let our cups, radiant with many hued wines,Round and round in groups circle, our Zodiac's Signs:-- Round reeling, and ringing their chimes!

Then drink, gods and kings; wine merriment brings;It bounds through the veins; there, jubilant sings.Let it ebb, then, and flow; wine never grows dim;Drain down that bright tide at the foam beaded rim:-- Fill up, every cup, to the brim!

DIRGE

We drop our dead in the sea, The bottomless, bottomless sea;Each bubble a hollow sigh, As it sinks forever and aye.

We drop our dead in the sea,-- The dead reek not of aught;We drop our dead in the sea,-- The sea ne'er gives it a thought.

Sink, sink, oh corpse, still sink, Far down in the bottomless sea,Where the unknown forms do prowl, Down, down in the bottomless sea.

'Tis night above, and night all round, And night will it be with thee;As thou sinkest, and sinkest for aye, Deeper down in the bottomless sea.

MARLENA

Far off in the sea is Marlena,A land of shades and streams,A land of many delights,Dark and bold, thy shores, Marlena;But green, and timorous, thy soft knolls,Crouching behind the woodlands.All shady thy hills; all gleaming thy springs,Like eyes in the earth looking at you.How charming thy haunts, Marlena!--Oh, the waters that flow through Onimoo;Oh, the leaves that rustle through Ponoo:Oh, the roses that blossom in Tarma.Come, and see the valley of Vina:How sweet, how sweet, the Isles from Hina:'Tis aye afternoon of the full, full moon,And ever the season of fruit,And ever the hour of flowers,And never the time of rains and gales,All in and about Marlena.Soft sigh the boughs in the stilly air,Soft lap the beach the billows there;And in the woods or by the streams,You needs must nod in the Land of Dreams.

PIPE SONG

Care is all stuff:-- Puff! Puff!To puff is enough:-- Puff! PuffMore musky than snuff,And warm is a puff:-- Puff! PuffHere we sit mid our puffs,Like old lords in their ruffs,Snug as bears in their muffs:-- Puff! PuffThen puff, puff, puff,For care is all stuff,Puffed off in a puff-- Puff! Puff!

SONG OF YOOMY

Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi:The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea, That rolls o'er his corse with a hush, His warriors bend over their spears, His sisters gaze upward and mourn. Weep, weep, for Adondo is dead! The sun has gone down in a shower; Buried in clouds the face of the moon;Tears stand in the eyes of the starry skies, And stand in the eyes of the flowers;And streams of tears are the trickling brooks, Coursing adown the mountains.-- Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi: The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea.Fast falls the small rain on its bosom that sobs,-- Not showers of rain, but the tears of Oro.

GOLD

We rovers bold, To the land of Gold,Over the bowling billows are gliding: Eager to toil, For the golden spoil,And every hardship biding. See! See!Before our prows' resistless dashesThe gold-fish fly in golden flashes! 'Neath a sun of gold, We rovers bold,On the golden land are gaining; And every night, We steer aright,By golden stars unwaning!All fires burn a golden glare:No locks so bright as golden hair! All orange groves have golden gushings; All mornings dawn with golden flushings!In a shower of gold, say fables old,A maiden was won by the god of gold! In golden goblets wine is beaming: On golden couches kings are dreaming! The Golden Rule dries many tears! The Golden Number rules the spheres!Gold, gold it is, that sways the nations:Gold! gold! the center of all rotations!